Another Dawn
by Lady Emily
Summary: "There will never be anyone for me but you." An extended version of what might have happened at Gilbert's sickbed. Movie-verse.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me but to the talented L.M. Montgomery, and I am making no profit from their use.

A/N: This story takes place in the Anne movie-verse. It seemed obvious to me that AoGG: the Sequel was missing a few scenes between when Anne visits Gilbert's sickbed and when he finds her picking apples... I know it's been done, but here is my take on what might have happened in between!

* * *

Her hand shook as she lifted it to knock on the door of the Blythe farmhouse. What would Mr. and Mrs. Blythe think of her, following the hired man all the way from Green Gables, visiting at dawn with her skirts rumpled and her hair everywhere? And all to see their son, whose proposal of marriage she'd so thoughtlessly and hastily declined, and who was likely too sick to even see her at the moment... perhaps even _dying_.

Anne shivered miserably and knocked. No, no part of this was proper. But if word got around—and in Avonlea, it _would_ get around—she would accept the sting of the gossip as a penance... a penance for her foolishness in taking so long to realize her true feelings for Gilbert.

Mrs. Blythe answered the door, looking tired and much, much older than she had when Anne had seen her last. It was plain that she couldn't have been more surprised if she'd opened the door to find a two-headed camel. "Anne Shirley!"

Anne pulled her sweater closer against the dewy morning chill, and against Gil's mother's icy gaze. "He- Hello." she stammered. Since Anne had rejected Gilbert's proposal, Mrs. Blythe had treated her with a wounded coolness, as if she'd been the lover scorned, and not her son. And truth told, Anne could hardly blame her. Anne knew she'd broken the heart of the finest man in Avonlea, and how could anyone be expected to forgive her for that?

Especially when he was _dying_.

"Anne, what brings you here so early?"

The forced levity in Mrs. Blythe's voice nearly brought Anne over the edge as she fought the tears she'd been fighting since Minnie May Barry had asked the awful question: _Did you know Gilbert Blythe is dying?_ "Mrs. Blythe... I only just heard about Gilbert. Please... How- how is he?"

The older woman shook her head. "I... It's in God's hands now." she said in pinched tones, and despite the ill-will Mrs. Blythe bore her, Anne longed to reach out and comfort her in this time of darkness.

Before she could, however, Mr. Blythe appeared in the doorway, placing a soft hand on his wife's shoulder. "Anne." he nodded in greeting. Anne had always liked the sound of John Blythe's voice- below its deep gruffness, it always seemed to be carrying an undercurrent of good humor. Today, though, he only sounded sad and resigned. "Won't you come in?"

Anne paused for a moment. More than anything, she wanted to see Gil. She felt acutely aware that time was running out, had felt a sickening jolt with every tick of the clock since that fateful moment on the porch with Minnie May. And yet, it wouldn't be right to go to him. To trouble him with her confessions of love and foolishness would only serve to lighten her heart while further burdening his.

And besides, she thought with sudden dismay, he was _engaged_. She didn't have the _right_. "No." Anne whispered regretfully. "No, I- I only came to- to give him _this_." She held out the copy of the book that she'd been clutching mindlessly for the past half-hour, the first work she'd ever written that was good enough for publishing—the book _he'd_ inspired her to write. "I- I thought he might- might like to see..." She floundered helplessly, somehow unable to find any kind of ending to that sentence. Finally she thrust the book into Mr. Blythe's hands decisively. "Please... tell him that... that I'm praying for him. We all are."

"Thank you, Anne, but..." John exchanged a glance with his wife before continuing, "I'm sure it would mean more if you gave this to him yourself. Are you sure you don't want to see him?"

Anne felt something constrict within her heart. How could they think she didn't _want_ to see him? A single minute with him now would be infinitely precious, especially if... Oh, when she thought of all the time she'd wasted these past years! "I- I..."

"He'll want to see you, Anne." John said quietly, and for her, that settled the matter. With a nod, she accepted the book back and allowed Gilbert's father to guide her into the kitchen, and further towards the bedrooms. "He's been very feverish, even delusional at times." John warned, then smiled sadly. "I hope he'll forgive me for letting you see him in this state."

Anne blushed crimson. "Then, why- why are you letting me...?"

John placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. "My girl, if the worst should happen, if Gilbert doesn't pull through... I would never want you to regret not coming."

Anne's breath hitched and she swallowed hard. The fact that Gil was dying had been hovering in the air between them, but this was the first it had been spoken aloud. She looked up into Mr. Blythe's face. His expression was frank and sober, but at the same time, kind and sympathetic. Mr. Blythe was practical and grounded in a way that she could never be, but there was a warmth in him, kindness, and a personal understanding... Anne found herself wondering if he knew how like him his son was... And she wondered if when Mr. Blythe looked at _her_, he didn't sometimes see Marilla.

He placed his hand on the bedroom doorknob and Anne reached out to touch his sleeve. "Mr. Blythe," she whispered, "Thank you."

Mr. Blythe nodded and opened the door, immediately crossing to the bedside. "Gilbert." he said quietly, rousing his son with a gentle shake of the shoulder. "You have a visitor."

Anne hung back, lingering in the doorway, feeling intimidated and small. The room was not particularly dark or stuffy, but it was solemn with the presence of illness, the faint smell of salves and herbal tea. Try as she might, she couldn't keep her eyes from glancing about. She had never been in a man's bedroom before, much less Gilbert's.

And then the prone, white figure in the bed stirred, and his eyes met hers. "Anne." Gilbert breathed, in the barest of whispers. His face was pale and covered with a fine sheen of sweat, and he seemed to lack the energy even to lift his head.

She could do nothing but step immediately to his side. "Yes, it's me, Gilbert." she said, her voice slightly rough with unshed tears. "I- I came to ask you to go for one of our old-time rambles in the woods." She could hardly tell him how she really felt. The only thing she could do at this point was let him know that no matter what had occurred between them in the past, he had her devoted, unyielding friendship.

"...Wish I could go." Gil rasped from between parched lips.

Mr. Blythe took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed as, not trusting herself to speak, Anne took to her knees by the bed, fussing with her skirts for a moment. "I brought you my book." she said finally. "I've been published, Gil!"

His eyes focused intently on her, and she detected the shine of pride in them, but he was too weak to react any further. Anne didn't know how he might have reacted to her news if he'd been well, but she could imagine it, and the happiness and admiration he would have felt for her caused a lump to form in her throat. "I wrote about Avonlea, just as you said I should. Without any 'high-faluting mumbo-jumbo.'" She laughed a little bit, remembering how Gilbert's previous criticism of her story had ended in a stinging argument... and yet now that day seemed like a _happy_ memory.

She opened the book to the dedication page and held it out to him, showing him his own name in print. "I dedicated the inscription to Marilla, and to Matthew... and to _you_." She was crying now in earnest. Her voice broke, and she found the courage to take his too-warm hand in her own. "I was planning on saving it as a wedding gift, but then I decided I just couldn't wait."

"Anne, there's... there's not going to be any wedding anymore." Gil whispered, and Anne was struck numb by the finality of his words.

"You're going to get well, Gil, I know you will!" she protested, sobbing slightly, but he squeezed her hand lightly.

"I called it off." he explained weakly, to her shock and confusion. "It wouldn't have been fair to Christine."

"Gil..." she breathed. What was he saying?

He looked her in the eyes, and suddenly she was trembling all over. As slowly and clearly as he was able, he told her, "There will never be anyone for me but you."

Anne inhaled sharply, and two more tears fell from her eyes as she lifted their clasped hands to her face, pressing his hand to her cheek. Her heart broke with the surge of tenderness she felt for him—how could he still love her after she'd acted so foolishly?

She had thought that his leaving her forever, without a word or sign or message, would be the worst torture imaginable, but she had been wrong. Knowing for certain that he still loved her, and that but for this, they might have been blissfully happy together... this was so much more unbearable! "Oh, Gil..." she sobbed. "I was so wrong."

"Don't cry, Anne." he murmured, letting his thumb caress her cheek lightly. "It doesn't matter now."

"What- what do you mean?" she asked, confused. "What doesn't matter now?"

"I heard," Gilbert rasped, and his voice was raw and strained. "That you were getting engaged... to a man in Kingsport."

How had he heard that, Anne wondered vaguely. Perhaps Diana had inadvertently spread the news of her tall, dark, handsome, and rich Kingsport beau. Or perhaps Rachel Lynde had seen it in one of her letters to Marilla... But it hardly mattered now, did it? Anne gave a bitter little chuckle. "Almost. He proposed. I refused."

"You... refused?" Gil whispered slowly, wondrously. A flame began to kindle somewhere behind his eyes, and Anne couldn't say for certain whether it was another spell of fever, or something else entirely. "...Why?"

"I didn't know why." The tears started again, and Anne used the back of her free hand to try and stem their flow. This, of course, only made her cry harder. "I didn't know, until... until Minnie May told me... she told me how sick you were. Oh, Gil!"

"Anne?" It obviously took a lot of effort, but Gilbert managed to lift his leaden hand and rest it on her forearm, just below where she still retained his other hand in a soft clasp.

"Ever since the day you rescued me on the lake... really, since I came to Avonlea, you've always been there. You _can't_ leave me alone now, Gil, not now that I _know_ how I truly, truly feel!" Anne pleaded desperately.

His burning eyes locked onto hers. "Say it." he murmured hoarsely.

She didn't hesitate. "I love you." she said softly. "I love you, Gil. I think I always have."

Gilbert closed his eyes again, the smile of a hard-won victory upon his white lips. "You don't know," he said, his words coming in short, labored fragments, "how long I've been waiting... to hear you say that."

"I love you." Anne said again, her own faint, bittersweet smile settling on her lips. If Gilbert would _only_ get well, she would say it every day, she vowed to herself. Whenever he wanted to hear it!

"...Love you." Gil returned, almost inaudibly, and Anne's heart gave a queer little quivering jump, the way it always did when he said such things to her.

"Oh!" She let out a little, involuntary cry, overwhelmed by passion. Her book thumped softly to the floor, forgotten, as she moved a trembling hand to touch him. Her cool fingers smoothed the hair away from his fevered brow in a bold, intimate caress. "You _must_ get well, Gil!"

"Anne..." Gilbert's strength was rapidly fading, but he tenaciously attempted to elicit one last assurance from her before it did. "When I... will you..."

Anne nodded her acceptance. "Rest now," she coaxed. "You will get better, and then I will marry you." She smiled bravely. "And then we will have years and years to talk about whatever you want, my darling." She tasted the new epithet on her tongue and decided she liked it. "But now you need to rest."

"Anne..." He seemed incapable of saying anything but her name, but the way he looked at her said everything else.

He sank back into a fevered sleep, but Anne remained, keeping watch over him, his hand clasped tightly in her own. Somehow their exchange of confessions had given her confidence that Gilbert would recover...

Or perhaps it was only that losing him now was no longer an option she could accept.

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A/N: There is at least one more chapter to this story. Please review and tell me what you think, and I'll be sure to post it soon!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: _Thank you_ to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I really do appreciate your feedback. Perhaps because I'd read the books before seeing the movies, it never occurred to me that Gilbert might actually die... The way they abruptly ended the deathbed scene does make a little more sense now. (Thank you, Vero :P)

Anyway, I had a heck of a time ending this chapter. I really hope you like it. Enjoy!

* * *

"Oh! Ah!" Anne yelped as the wind suddenly gusted, nearly allowing one of Marilla's best bedsheets to escape from her. She tripped and caught the flyaway sheet between her fingers at the last moment, ashamedly glancing toward the main road to make sure no one had witnessed her unladylike slip.

To her dismay, she found a buggy winding down the lane to Green Gables. Her heart leaped into her throat as she recognized it: it was John Blythe's.

Anne suddenly felt cold all over. Was Mr. Blythe bringing news about Gilbert? It had only been two days since her visit and her soft confessions, and the last she had heard, Gil's condition was unchanged... but she had assumed that, as Rachel Lynde always said, no news was good news. She hastily rolled up the sheet and dropped it into her basket, haphazardly snatching the rest of the wash from the line and depositing it into the basket in a similarly unceremonious manner. It took her several minutes to collect all of the laundry, the typically mindless and not-unpleasant task suddenly seeming to stretch on for hours before she finally hefted the heavy basket and ran anxiously toward the house, nearly stumbling over her skirts in her hurry.

Bursting through the kitchen door in a _truly_ unladylike fashion, she found John Blythe at the table with Rachel and Marilla, partaking of a glass of lemonade. Anne took one look at the pleasant expression on his face and nearly went limp with relief—clearly this visit did not signal the bad tidings she'd feared.

"Anne Shirley!" Rachel admonished, one hand fluttering to her bosom. "Are you trying to scare us all half to death?"

"I'm sorry Rachel." Anne apologized, without taking her eyes off of Gilbert's father. "I was only afraid that-... I was worried about..." she was slightly out of breath, and she trailed off helplessly, setting the basket of laundry down and turning to Mr. Blythe. "Hello, Mr. Blythe... how are you this morning?"

Mr. Blythe gave a booming chuckle, and that was how Anne knew that Gilbert was truly out of the woods. "Why, I'm just fine, Miss Anne." he told her, a twinkle in his eye as he added, "But don't think I don't know that you're really just asking after my boy!"

She was at his side in an instant, her gray eyes pleading. "Please... How is he?"

"Well now, he's on the mend." John said with a smile, "The fever broke yesterday, and he's awake and talking. Doctor says he's out of danger now. Matter of fact, he took the turn soon after you left, Anne. I don't know what you said to him, but somehow, I can't help thinking it's you we should be thanking for it."

Marilla spotted Anne's trembling hand on the tabletop and gently rested her own over it. "It's Providence we should thank." she said quietly.

"He finally just made up his mind to live, that's what." Rachel put in. "That boy's done everything he's ever put his mind to." She looked meaningfully at Anne, who couldn't stop a blush from rising to her cheeks. "Longest case of scarlet fever I ever did see, though."

"Mr. Blythe came to ask if you would accompany him back to the farm." Marilla said to Anne.

"That's right." John said. "Gilbert's been asking to see you since he woke up."

Anne didn't need to be asked twice, and she immediately rose and began fluttering around, collecting her hat and sweater. Her eyes fell guiltily on the basket of clean laundry, and she turned to Marilla appealingly. "May I go, Marilla? I'll fold the laundry just as soon as I get back, I promise."

"Don't be silly, Anne." Marilla said, shaking her head. "Go ahead, go on."

"Don't you worry about the laundry." Rachel chimed in. "Sure we handle it just fine on our own while you're off at school, don't we?"

Anne smiled, bending to kiss each woman quickly on the cheek. "Thank you. Thank you."

She turned expectantly to Mr. Blythe, who quickly swallowed the last of his drink in preparation for their imminent departure. "All right," he said as he rose, with a knowing smile at the two older women. "Well it looks like I must be going. Thank you for the lemonade."

"You're welcome, John. Thank you for coming." Marilla said, rising as well. "I know it means a lot to Anne."

They shared a long look before John replaced his cap on his head and nodded courteously to both women. "Goodbye then, Marilla. Mrs. Lynde."

It was only a short ride to the Blythe farm by buggy, but Anne soon found herself restless, both excited and anxious at the prospect of seeing Gilbert again, now that their feelings for each other were at long last out in the open. She blushed at the mere memory of their last meeting. She'd been dreadfully forward—why, _she'd_ practically proposed to _him_!

But then she remembered _why_ she'd been so forward, and she was swept away in a flood of relief and happiness. Perhaps nothing less than his near brush with death would have induced her to overcome her stubbornness—not to mention her stupid, half-baked preconceptions of love!—and admit how much she truly cared for him, but she would never be so foolish again. She would never spend another horrible night sitting by her window and wondering whether he was still alive, whether he knew she loved him, whether she could bring herself to carry on without him... He had gotten the turn! He was going to live, and she was going to have a second chance, and she was going to spend every moment from now on _not_ wasting it.

"Nice day, isn't it?" Mr. Blythe commented from the seat beside her, and Anne started, realizing that she was so lost in her thoughts that she was rudely ignoring him.

"It's beautiful." she agreed with a smile. If her emotions were a landscape, her surroundings would mirror them exactly. The sky was bright and blue, and the grasses and trees by the roadside swayed in the warm breeze. "Like a scene from a painting." Immediately she corrected herself. "But no, a painting could never capture anything as beautiful as this. Not _truly_."

Mr. Blythe laughed, and Anne smiled. She knew she was notorious in Avonlea for her flights of fancy and her rapturous love of nature, and that many of the elders thought she was odd and impractical, but she got the feeling that John Blythe was laughing with her, and not _at_ her. Besides, he must be as mirthful as she was, today of all days, now that Gilbert was sure to live!

When they reached the farm Anne scrambled out of the buggy even before John had a chance to help her down. Yet when they were finally standing outside of Gilbert's bedroom, he looked back at her to find her eagerness apparently abated, her face the picture of maidenly restraint. "What's the matter?" he asked her curiously.

Anne looked down at her hands, her fingers intertwined in a knot of anxiety. "Nothing." she answered falsely. How could she explain to Gil's father that she was suddenly filled with doubts? Two days ago, when she'd spoken to Gilbert, he'd been ill, feverish. Perhaps he hadn't meant the things he said to her then, perhaps he wasn't aware of what he'd been saying. Perhaps he wouldn't remember the conversation at all.

Perhaps he truly was still engaged to Christine Stuart!

Mr. Blythe rapped gently on the door, then held it open for Anne to go in.

The curtains were open, and sunlight and fresh air flooded in, transforming it completely from the dark and dire room of two days ago. Gil was sitting up in bed. He was still thin, still pale, but his hazel eyes were clear and warm, a stunning change from the cloudy, fever-bright gaze he'd possessed then. His hair was clean and combed, and her book lay open in his hands.

He closed it gently and set it on the nightstand. "I haven't read very far in it yet." he said. "I get tired out too quickly."

Anne stepped inside, and the moment she saw him, her doubts flew away as suddenly as they'd come. "Gil... you should be resting, not reading, you goose." she said fondly.

"Well, you wrote it for _me_; I figured I at least owed it to you to read it." he smiled back.

"When you're _well_." Anne insisted, blushing a little, but not denying his teasing remark. "_Then_ you may read it, and critique me as harshly as you please."

Gilbert laughed a little and shook his head. "Don't think I'm going to fall into _that_ trap again, Anne Shirley. I learned my lesson the day I told you what I really thought of _Averil's Atonement_."

Anne dropped her gaze with a rueful smile. "I suppose I deserve that. I was very proud that day, wasn't I?" she said. Today there was a chair by the bed, and she pulled it up behind her and sat down. "You must believe that the past few years have humbled me... if only a little."

"A very little, I hope." Gilbert told her. "I'd hate to see you change, Anne."

Anne's breath caught in her throat. At one point, hearing him say such things, hearing that ardent tone slip into his voice, would have sent her fleeing in the other direction. Now she had no impulse other than to stay and listen... forever, if she could. "The- the worst of it is," she stammered slightly, her face pinkening, "That you were right."

"About Averil?"

Her gaze dropped to her hands, folded primly in her lap. "About everything."

Gilbert smiled a relieved smile, reaching over to place one of his hands over hers. Startled, she looked up at him as their fingers entwined. "...So it wasn't just a dream." he said softly, reading her heart in her eyes. "When I was sick... you did come."

"Of course I did!" Anne said fervently. "Oh, Gil, I was desperately frightened for you. I hadn't even known you were sick, and then when I did find out... that's when I realized. But I thought it was too late." She shuddered with the memory.

Gilbert squeezed her hands gently, and all at once she was foregoing propriety yet again and throwing herself into his arms. He didn't seem to mind; indeed, he pulled her in and held her against him as though it were the most natural position in the world. "It was the most terrible night of my life, Gil, the night I thought you were dying, without ever knowing how I cared." she confessed quietly. "I wanted to die, too."

"Anne!" Gilbert breathed, horrified by the idea that Anne, _his_ Anne, who found beauty and joy in everything, could _ever _have such bleak thoughts. "But it wasn't too late, my love." he whispered into her hair. "It isn't."

"I don't see how you kept on loving me, when I've acted like such a fool!" Anne mumbled into his chest.

He chuckled a little, still holding her close. "I never could stop, although I tried." he confessed. "Not because I thought you were foolish; I was just convinced that there was no chance for me. When word got back to me about your beau in Kingsport..." He shook his read ruefully. "I'd loved you for so long. The idea of you being engaged to anyone but me... you can't imagine how it felt."

Anne allowed herself a moment to secretly thrill over his _anyone but me_... and then turned the tables back. "I think you underestimate me, Gilbert Blythe." she said haughtily, pulling away from him and joining their hands once more. "_I_ can imagine a great many things... for example, I can imagine how it might feel to be madly jealous of Christine Stuart. When I thought you were dying, Gil, you have no idea how I wished I was her, so that I would have the right to come be with you."

"Not that that stopped you from coming," Gilbert pointed out with a soft smile. "For which I shall be forever grateful."

"There are some situations," Anne told him gravely, "When you just have to hang propriety."

He spotted the telltale sparkle in her eye and chuckled. "What would Marilla say if she was here to hear that?" he teased. "As for Christine..." Gil grew serious, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Anne, _nothing_ mattered to me for a time there, after you told me that you could never love me. And then I met Christine. I thought I could be happy if I could only fall for her instead... Of course, I could no more make myself fall in love with her than I could make you fall in love with me, but I certainly tried. I almost had myself convinced, until that day in Kingsport, in the pavilion, in the rain. Five minutes with you was enough for me to know I'd only been fooling myself, that it was still you that I loved, and it always would be."

"I think I knew then too..." Anne mused shyly. "Or rather, I _felt _something. But I didn't _know_ until three days ago." She smiled self-deprecatingly. "For the girl who tied for top scholar on the Queens' pass list, I can be rather dense, can't I?"

Gil lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them, one after the other, setting her heart fluttering madly. "Not dense." he said, hiding a smile. "Stubborn."

"Well!" Anne exclaimed, offended but for the fact that it was unquestionably true. "...I did come to my senses eventually, didn't I?"

"You did, Anne-girl, with not a minute to spare!" Gilbert told her. "Both of my parents are convinced that it was you who saved my life, you know."

Anne shook her head. "Really, Gil! I should think the trained nurse had more to do with it than I! Or at least a combination of that and Providence, as Marilla would say... Although Rachel Lynde is convinced that you beat the disease all on your own, just by putting your mind to it."

"They're probably both right in part." Gil said seriously. "But it was only when you came that I had something worth fighting it _for_." He raised his eyebrows teasingly, as if just beginning to consider something. "You _did_ promise to marry me when I got well, didn't you? Because if _that_ was only a dream-"

Anne cut him off by leaning forward and pressing a short, _wonderful _kiss to his lips. She pulled back, and lowered her eyes demurely, shocked by her own daring. "It wasn't." she said, rather needlessly.

There was a long moment of silence before she was able to look back into his face. When she did, she found him smiling. "...Then you will?" he finally asked, in a low, steady voice.

"I will." she said simply, happy to finally be able to give him the answer he wanted.

Wordlessly, he lifted one hand to cup her face and kissed her again, and she closed her eyes and allowed herself be overwhelmed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Anne knew it was wildly improper for her to be here—in his room, on his bed, in his arms!—but she couldn't find it in herself to worry about that now, when Gil was kissing her at last!

When they separated, Anne was truly and uncommonly speechless. Gilbert took the exceptional opportunity to murmur a vow of love into her ear, smiling when she flushed... and then boldly made him a vow of her own. They lost themselves for a time in soft conversation and caresses while the golden afternoon slipped away between them, until Anne noticed Gilbert stifling a yawn and remembered herself.

"But you're exhausted, Gil!" she exclaimed, somewhat embarrassed for forgetting that he was still recovering from a serious illness. "Whyever didn't you tell me to leave, so that you could rest?"

He smiled tiredly, leaning his head back on his pillows. "Because I was afraid you would actually go." he said.

Anne rose from her perch on the bed, smoothing her skirts. "Gilbert Blythe, you are positively incorrigible." she said with a shake of her head. "I'm sure you'll be a wonderful doctor someday, because you are such a terrible patient."

The smile faded from his face at the reminder of his three years of impending schooling. "Anne... I won't be a doctor for a long-" he began, but Anne cut him off, smoothing back his hair and placing a kiss on forehead.

"Later, my love." she promised. "We can talk when you've recovered... and that goes for reading as well." she reminded him mischievously, nodding at the book on the nightstand.

Gil kissed the back of her hand before regretfully releasing her. "At any rate, you'll make an excellent doctor's wife."

"I mean to." she said solemnly. "And Gil, after all this time... you needn't worry that I won't wait for you."

After a last light kiss, she slipped out and into the sunshine with an equally light heart, leaving her intended with a smile on his face.


End file.
